


Where You Came From (I Will Not Ask)

by pensversusswords



Category: Marvel
Genre: Erotic Implications, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensversusswords/pseuds/pensversusswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's an erotic artist, and Tony's an unwilling visitor to an art exhibit. </p><p>Tony had never known anything like this; how a simple thing such as a painting - and apparently, a certain artist - could make him feel like the earth had been torn out from under him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where You Came From (I Will Not Ask)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MystikSpiral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystikSpiral/gifts).



> Inspired by Keita's [wonderful post](http://igavethatbitchalink.tumblr.com/post/121975573289/an-au-where-steve-makes-erotic-art-and-tony-is). Credit goes to [Lucy](http://www.stevetny.tumblr.com), my amazing and lovely beta <3 <3
> 
> Title inspired by Like Real People Do by Hozier - One of my favourite stevetony songs ^ ^

Tony couldn't believe that out of all the places in the world, he had managed toend up getting dragged _here_ .    

He hadn’t wanted to come. Pepper had insisted; it was an important event for an important business partner, for some important reason or another. In the end, he’d agreed to go with only minimal complaining because it was Pepper, and for all the bravado, he never really minded doing things for her.  

So, he came to the art gallery with the intentions of easing Pepper’s mind, and it was literally just as horrible as he’d expected it to be.  

All of the schmoozing, pretentious art talk while people accompanied the mindless conversation with swirling champagne in tall glasses, falsetto laughter that bounced off the high ceilings and echoed shrilly.  Tony was convinced more than half of them were filled with hot air. Meanwhile, he figured that the other half of the poor suckers - like himself - didn’t want to be here .   


After countless times he had been dragged into a circle of conversation in which he had no interest in participating, he’d politely excused himself to “go admire the art”.  

So now, with hands jammed in his pockets and feigning a completely enraptured expression, he strolled from art piece to art piece, pausing for a few moments in front of each one to observe it carefully .   

Tony didn’t dislike art. He enjoyed it, in fact. He appreciated the skill and intricate beauty of some of the pieces and the ingenious simplicity of others. Alt hough he hated these occasions, he wasn’t blind to the art around him.  

Even so, it wasn’t until he came to a stop in front of one particular piece that he paused not out of obligation, but because he felt like he had been struck in the stomach, like pinpricks of light were being gouged into him . 

It was a collection of rather simple pieces; characterized by loose, swooping lines that paired exquisitely with the touch of a finely tuned instrument, operated by someone who loved the work they did. The pieces all featured the human figure; sometimes alone, sometimes entwined with others, all of them nude. The figures' bodies were bare and exposed, in a way that appeared completely  natural , so natural that it was as if it would have been strange for them to be wearing clothes. It wasn’t gratuitous nudity, more like all of the well known classical paintings featuring the human in their truest form, attributing a type of power and authenticity to their nakedness.   

There was a sexual and intimate aspect to them, to be sure, but something about it felt... different than other paintings he’d seen depicting similar things. Different in a way he couldn’t quite figure out.  

“So, what do you think?” 

Tony was startled out of his thoughts by a voice from behind him. He spun around coming face to face with the owner of the voice and - Oh God - Tony’s first thought was that the man he was suddenly facing was just as beautiful as the paintings he was staring at. Blonde, taller than him so that he had to tilt his head up a bit to meet his blue eyes, smiling open and friendly at Tony like his face wasn’t a gift to all existence of humanity. 

This was too much for one night. For a few moments, Tony forgot how to speak. 

He cleared his throat, attempting to assume some kind of composure. “What?” 

The man gestured to the paintings, a soft and curious smile hovering over his lips. “You’ve been staring for a while. Do you like them?” 

“I-” Tony swallowed, forced himself to turn back to the paintings. The back of his neck was burning. “Yes. Yeah, I think they’re fucking beautiful.” 

The man let out a little laugh, moving up to stand beside Tony, arms crossed over his chest. He shook his head. “Some people would call it other things.” 

“What, because the people are naked?” Tony frowned. “No, they’re amazing. I mean \-- ”  

Tony stopped, long enough for it to n ot be considered a pause, and thought about what he was going to say next.  

“I feel it,” H e said finally, his eyes fixed on one particular pairing, two figures wrapped around each other like any space between their bodies would be physically painful. They were bathed in a faint blue light, their faces illuminated in the glow, catching the intensity in their eyes as they stared at each other. 

It was their expressions that caught him off guard. There was something raw and feral about the way they looked, something intimate in a way that had Tony feeling like he was interrupting a private  moment between two lovers. 

His voice was raspy as he continued, “I feel it right here.” He patted his chest lightly. It did feel tight, not uncomfortably so, just like his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest. “Is art meant to make you feel like that? Because I’ve seen some art in my time and I’ve - I’ve never... ”   

Luckily the man saved him  from his awkward attempt at explaining how he felt , interjecting in a gentle knowing voice. “The right art makes the right person feel like they’ve just seen their own heart torn out and placed on a canvas in front of them.” 

Tony laughed  and then  shrugged. “I guess this \--” Tony leaned forward, squinting to see a name scrawled next to one of the paintings. “ _Steve Rogers ,_ knows me without even knowing me.” 

He glanced over at the man then, who had a strange expression on his face ; his head was tilted to one side and the smile he’d had on his lips this whole time was   still lingering, but had changed into something harder to read, like his lips were hiding a secret caged in his mouth.   

The man didn’t say anything. Tony turned back to look at the paintings once again, not knowing where to go from there.  

Eventually, he decided on his name. “I’m Tony Stark, by the way,” he said, turning back to Blondie and offering hishand.   

One of the man’s eyebrows quirked up as he accepted Tony’s hand. “I know. I’m Steve Rogers.” 

Tony froze.  

Steve shrugged at his reaction, looking only partially apologetic. “Sorry? It’s not always that you’re able to get honest feedback on your work.” 

Tony narrowed his eyes and dropped the hand he’d been shaking. “You, Steve Rogers, are a _sly_   bastard.” 

Steve shrugged again, this time his expression a little less apologetic. “So I’ve been told .”  

“You tricked me! ” Tony accused, jabbing a finger at him. “If you didn’t have so much going for you I’d have to storm away from this conversation and try to, you know, maintain a sliver of my dignity.”  

“Oh,” Steve asked, “and what exactly do I have going for me?” 

“Well,” Tony said, gesturing to the length of Steve, “You’ve got all of that going on, and then there’s the... you know, porn art.”  

Steve laughed and shook his head. “It’s not porn, Tony.”

“Sorry, erotic art. Though I don’t see why the terminology matters.” 

Steve turned away from him then, back to his own paintings. “Eroticism and pornography are two very different things,” he explained.  

“Yeah?” Tony asked, “care to enlighten me?” 

For a long moment, Steve didn’t say anything, just stared at the images before him, brow furrowed in thought. Tony found himself staring, admiring the curve of his jaw, the fine lines etched into his brow. He really was, beyond any doubt, the most attractive man Tony had ever seen. Not even just in the way of his stunning good looks, but in the way that his expressions flitted so smoothly across his face, the way his eyes shone faintly, like the colour of clear skies.  

Tony knew he was blatantly staring, but he found he was powerless to stop himself. 

Steve turned back to him after what felt like an eternity, his eyes meeting Tony’s. He thought that for a moment, his heart stuttered in his chest.  

“Calling it porn cheapens it,” Steve told him. “Takes away the intimacy of having someone touch you, being able to touch them back... to feel them come apart under your hands. It takes away from  two people connecting without words, like their bodies are meant to fit together.” 

He stepped forward, and Tony felt himself almost leaning in to meet him. 

“What I painted,” Steve continued, his voice low and gravelly, just barely rising higher than a whisper, “was the feeling of looking at someone while they hold you, watching every emotion they have rushing through them appear on their face. Hearing what they’re saying, even though words could never come close to describing it.”  

He took another step forward; they were nose to nose now and Tony’s heart felt like it was mere moments away from bursting through his ribcage.  

When Steve spoke again, he was close enough that Tony felt his breath ghost across his face. 

“What about you Tony?” he murmured. 

Tony’s breath hitched when Steve reached out and tentatively placed a hand over his hip, slowly, as if he was giving Tony a chance to back away.  

He didn’t , and the touch of his hand, firm and warm, ran through his body like fire sparking through his veins, trembling up his spine. Tony was powerless to move, frozen in spot, unable to look away from Steve’s face.  

“I painted how sex feels to me,” Steve whispered, fingers pressing into the grooves of Tony’s waist. Tony shivered. 

For a moment, Tony thought Steve was going to kiss him. He found himself aching for it, yearning to collapse into him and to feel what he was talking about, because like Steve said, it could not be conveyed in words . He wanted Steve to touch him, _really_ touch him. He wanted to feel his skin on his own, their breath mingling and hands being entwined. Tony didn’t know this man, but he wanted to.

Instead of kissing him, Steve just murmured, his voice a secret meant only for him; “How does sex really feel for you, Tony?”  

There was a moment when the world paused, and all there was in the universe was Steve’s face and his hand on his hip. Tony felt like he was melting into that one source of heat, that gentle touch anchoring him to the ground. 

Then, Steve was backing away, smiling at him and giving him a small wave. He looked like he didn’t even know he’d just torn the world out from under Tony’s feet. 

In the absence of Steve’s hand on him, he felt painfully bereft of his touch, though the spot glowed faintly with the lingering warmth.   

Tony stared after him for a long time, yearning for something he couldn’t even name. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me on [my tumblr](http://www.pensversusswords.tumblr.com/). <3
> 
> Part two [right here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4209399)!


End file.
